The Champions League Round of 16 had finally reached its end, but the tension hadn't faded—it only evolved.
Across Europe, eight clubs now stood at the summit. Their paths were carved through grit, glory, and moments of brilliance. The anticipation for the quarter-final draw gripped fans, players, and pundits alike. And in Manchester, just around 48 hours after the chaos in Turin, the City players gathered once more—this time not on the pitch, but in the club's state-of-the-art media room at the Etihad Campus.
The atmosphere was lighter than it had been in weeks. There were coffees in hands, light banter echoing around the room, and smiles on faces. But beneath it all was a quiet intensity. The stakes were only getting higher.
***
Champions League Round of 16—Second Leg Recap
Borussia Dortmund vs Bayer Leverkusen (5-2 on aggregate)
The Westfalenstadion was an inferno of yellow and black as flares lit up the night and drums pounded like thunder. Dortmund, as always, rode the rhythm of their fans like a wave. In the first leg, Marco Reus was untouchable—scoring one and assisting another in a blistering 3-1 win. His movement shredded Leverkusen's high line. Mkhitaryan added the exclamation mark with a thunderous volley.
By the second leg at the BayArena, the damage was already done. Even as Leverkusen pressed early, Dortmund played with cold efficiency. Reus netted again with a sweeping left-footed finish after a swift counter, and Mkhitaryan curled in the second just after halftime. A late Leverkusen goal only served as a consolation. Dortmund strolled through, 5-2 on aggregate, their confidence sky-high and their counter-attacks lethal.
Chelsea vs Schalke 04 (3-1 on aggregate)
Stamford Bridge crackled with anticipation as Chelsea took to the pitch for the second leg. The 1-1 draw in Germany had left the tie delicately poised, but José Mourinho's men didn't blink. Oscar, the conductor of Chelsea's rhythm, glided across the pitch like a man painting with every touch.
Midway through the first half, he took down a lofted pass with velvet control, cut inside two defenders, and passed the ball into the net with surgical calm. Schalke tried to fight back, but the backline of Terry, Cahill, and the tireless Ivanović kept the visitors at bay. Diego Costa added a second after a scrappy goalmouth scramble. 3-1 on aggregate, and Chelsea were through—methodical, experienced, and dangerous.
Malaga vs FC Basel (2-0 on aggregate)
In Switzerland, Malaga had stood firm. Their 0-0 draw at St. Jakob-Park was built on pure resilience. Goalkeeper Willy Caballero had made crucial saves, including a point-blank reaction stop that had fans in disbelief. Back in southern Spain, the air was charged with hope. Malaga had never made it this far before. Inside the La Rosaleda, the fans roared with belief. The first goal came from a set piece—Griezmann smashed a half-volley from the edge of the box into the roof of the net. Basel was stunned. In the second half, Dybala sealed it with a glancing header off a pinpoint cross from Cuadrado.
When the final whistle blew, the players fell to their knees. 2-0 on aggregate, and the dream lived on. Malaga's Cinderella story had reached the quarterfinals.
Barcelona vs Arsenal (5-0 on aggregate)
There was an eerie familiarity to Arsenal's collapse. The first leg at the Emirates had ended 2-0—Lionel Messi scoring twice, including a chipped penalty that silenced even the home support. But at the Camp Nou, things spiraled into humiliation. Barcelona was unrelenting. Messi and Neymar pulled defenders out of position with mesmerizing interplay, while Suárez played the enforcer, chasing every loose ball like it owed him money.
Neymar opened the scoring early with a cool finish. Then Messi danced past two defenders and curled in a second. By the time Suárez added the third with a bullet header, Arsenal was chasing shadows. The crowd rose to their feet for the final 10 minutes, chanting in unison. 5-0 on aggregate, and Barcelona reminded the world why they were favorites to lift the trophy.
AS Monaco vs FC Porto (3-0 on aggregate)
Few expected the principality side to dominate Porto, but Leonardo Jardim's side executed their plan to perfection. The first leg in Portugal had been a cagey affair, with Monaco stealing a 1-0 win via João Moutinho's late strike—a clinical breakaway finished with ice in his veins.
In the return leg at Stade Louis II, Monaco showed their steel. Early on, Dimitar Berbatov turned back the clock with a sublime piece of control and a delicate chipped finish over the keeper. The second came from Yannick Carrasco after a devastating counter. Porto looked rattled, unable to break through Monaco's compact midfield and organized backline. By the end, Monaco's discipline and poise earned them a comfortable 3-0 aggregate win—and a ticket to the quarters.
Real Madrid vs Paris Saint-Germain (5-3 on aggregate)
The most dramatic tie of the round. The first leg in Paris had been chaos—PSG twice took the lead, but Real Madrid clawed back each time. Zlatan Ibrahimović had scored a thunderous opener, but Ronaldo matched it with a flicked header. The 2-2 draw set up a blockbuster second leg at the Bernabéu.
Under the lights in Madrid, Ronaldo struck early from the penalty spot. PSG responded with verve, but when Benzema tapped in a loose ball just before halftime, the tide turned. Cavani's curling free kick in the 70th minute brought PSG hope—but Modrić dashed it with a stunning 25-yard drive that bent into the top corner. The Bernabéu erupted. An emotional match ended 5-3 on aggregate, and Madrid advanced, not unscathed—but triumphant.
Bayern Munich vs Atletico Madrid (3-1 on aggregate)
It had started grimly for Bayern. At the Calderón, Diego Simeone's Atleti had strangled the life out of the game, winning 1-0 through a Koke rebound. Bayern looked frustrated, out of rhythm, and vulnerable. But at the Allianz Arena, it was a different story.
From the first whistle, Bayern pressed like their lives depended on it. Xabi Alonso dictated the tempo, Robben twisted fullbacks into knots, and Thomas Müller scored with a signature turn-and-shoot inside the box. The second half saw Franck Ribéry dart in from the left and curl a second into the far corner. Atletico barely crossed the halfway line. Later on, Lewandowski added a third to seal the tie. Simeone's side was finally overwhelmed. 3-1 on aggregate—a statement from Pep's Bayern.
With the Round of 16 now complete, the road to Berlin was narrowing.
Eight remained. But there could be only one king.
****
Inside City's media room, the players sat forward in their seats as the live UEFA broadcast began. A large screen showed the Champions League logo spinning, then settled as the UEFA official stood with the golden bowl containing the final eight names.
Pellegrini stood at the back with his arms crossed, watching quietly. Adriano sat between Hummels and David Silva, the latter teasing him about needing a "lighter match" after Turin.
"Maybe this time we get Malaga, eh?" Silva joked.
"Or a rematch with Real Madrid?" Hummels offered.
Adriano smirked, leaning back. "Doesn't matter who it is. We've already come back from hell."
The room quieted as the draw began.
FIRST FIXTURE:
"Real Madrid... will play... Bayern Munich!"
A low chorus of reactions filled the room.
"That's massive," Joe Hart muttered. "Ronaldo vs. Lewandowski," Kane nodded. "And Pep is going back to the Bernabeu," Fernandinho added, eyebrows raised.
SECOND FIXTURE:
"Manchester City... will face... Barcelona!" (RIP )
The room erupted with mixed emotions.
"Whew…" Kimmich whistled. "Of course it's Barcelona," Hart sighed, half-laughing. Pellegrini cracked a small smile, muttering to his assistant, "Football always has a sense of drama."
Adriano didn't flinch. He exchanged a look with Silva, who simply patted his shoulder. "Welcome to El Clasico 2.0," Silva joked. "I'm ready," Adriano replied, eyes locked on the screen.
THIRD FIXTURE:
"Malaga... vs Chelsea."
Hazard leaned over to Kane, You just know José's going to park a double-decker in the first leg." Kane chuckled. "Yeah, but imagine Malaga knocking them out…"
FOURTH FIXTURE:
"AS Monaco... vs Borussia Dortmund."
The draw was complete. The room remained quiet for a moment as it all sank in.
Quarter-Finals
Real Madrid vs Bayern Munich
Manchester City vs Barcelona
Malaga vs Chelsea
AS Monaco vs Borussia Dortmund
Adriano finally stood, stretching, and looked around at his teammates. "Let's give them a night they'll never forget."
Silva slapped his back. "Turin was chapter one. Camp Nou's chapter two."
Pellegrini walked to the front and nodded. "We've earned the right to be feared. Let's act like it."
As the squad filtered out of the room, the atmosphere had shifted. There were no more jokes, no more laughter. Barcelona awaited—and with them, Messi, Neymar, and Suárez.
But City wasn't scared. They were ready.
And after Turin, the world knew better than to doubt them.
*****
The quarter-final draw had come and gone, and the verdict was in: Manchester City would face Barcelona. The announcement stirred immediate buzz—among fans, pundits, and the players themselves. Everyone understood what it meant.
A tie loaded with history, star power, and consequences. But that would come later. Right now, the focus shifted back to the Premier League, and the training ground was where it began.
The sky above Carrington was a clean, cloudless blue. Spring had softened the chill in the air, and the grass underfoot had that vibrant green you only saw after a week of sun and light rain. It was the kind of day where football felt simpler—fewer tactics, more ball.
Out on the pitch, the mood was relaxed. There was a hum of casual conversation and laughter between the usual sounds of cleats on turf and balls being struck cleanly.
Adriano jogged over to the far corner where Silva was stretching, one leg extended, a resistance band looped around his foot.
"Still pretending you're a winger?" Adriano asked, smirking.
Silva looked up, amused. "I am a winger when you drift inside like you're playing number ten."
Adriano chuckled. "Fine, I'll stay wide next time. Just don't expect me to defend."
Kane, tying his laces nearby, glanced up. "You two done arguing about fantasy football?"
Adriano turned to him with mock seriousness. "Says the guy who pointed to the sky after scoring against Stoke like he'd just won the World Cup."
Kane didn't miss a beat. "I had to celebrate it. You lot wouldn't stop moaning about me not scoring in November."
"That's because your last goal came when it was still snowing," Silva added dryly.
Kane fired the ball lightly at Silva's shin, who let it bounce off and grinned.
Training began with rondos—tight possession drills that got the legs moving and the competitive edge sharpened. Hummels barked instructions in three different languages, while Fernandinho went after loose touches with exaggerated aggression. Adriano got nutmegged by Sterling and chased him halfway across the circle, laughing and swearing under his breath.
Afterwards, the squad broke off into two groups. One worked on attacking set pieces, the other played small-sided games. Pellegrini and his assistants floated between the groups, observing more than instructing.
The manager knew when to push and when to let the players enjoy the game for what it was.
In the 6-vs-6 matches, De Bruyne pulled the strings from deep while Hazard toyed with defenders out wide.
Adriano—back to full sharpness—ghosted between lines, slipping passes and checking his runs. His movements were unhurried, instinctive, but always deliberate. The defenders gave him little space, but he looked comfortable again. Like himself.
At one point, Kimmich made a foul pulling Salah down with his jersey . The group Laufhed, and even Pellegrini raised an eyebrow.
"Relax man," Adriano called out. "We have plenty of jerseys.."
Kimmich shrugged. " Just checking the fabric quality."
Salah chuckled, " did you forget yours has the same fabric?"
Laughter echoed around the training grounds.
By the time training wrapped, the players drifted toward the benches, shirts damp, cheeks flushed. The conversation moved from football to restaurants, movie recommendations, and Hazard's ongoing complaints about English TV.
"Everything here is crime shows or baking," he said, sitting on a water cooler. "Where's the drama?"
"You want drama?" said Kane. "Wait till we play Barcelona."
Adriano was already walking back toward the dressing room, towel over his shoulder. He turned back briefly, grinning.
"I'm saving mine for that."
After training ended and the last of the laughter faded from the pitch, the players filtered out toward their cars, exchanging brief goodbyes and nods of satisfaction. Adriano took a bit longer, staying behind to stretch and go through some cooldown movements with the physio before grabbing his bag and heading out.
The drive home was quiet, the sun beginning to dip behind the rows of red-brick terraces as he approached his neighborhood. When he unlocked the front door and stepped inside, the scent hit him immediately—roasted garlic, simmering tomatoes, and something faintly sweet underneath it all. Home.
He kicked off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen, where Kate stood barefoot in leggings and an oversized jumper, her hair tied in a loose knot, humming faintly as she stirred something on the stove. She didn't hear him at first.
He moved in quietly, arms slipping around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. She jolted slightly but didn't pull away.
"You smell like sweat and grass," she muttered, wrinkling her nose, though a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"I missed you too," he whispered, pressing his lips lightly against her neck.
Kate tilted her head, just enough to look at him from the side. Before she could say anything else, he scooped her off the floor.
"Adriano—put me down!" she said, laughing as her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders.
"Nope," he said, carrying her down the hall with mock determination. "I need help in the shower."
"You said that last time," she protested through laughter. "And I was in there for an hour. Then had to actually wash myself again afterwards. What you did to me—"
"I'll do better this time," he promised, grinning. "I'll even do your shampoo. And maybe throw in a deep massage too."
Kate rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and that massage will magically focus on places that don't have any knots."
He grinned, unbothered. "I know where the tension really is."
Their laughter and teasing continued behind the closed bathroom door, echoing softly over the sound of running water. The steam filled the space quickly, blurring the edges of the mirror. Laughter turned to quiet gasps and slow kisses, a rhythm found not in words but in touches, in shared glances, in the comfort of being close again.
By the time they returned downstairs, Kate's cheeks were still warm, and her hair was tied back in a damp braid. Adriano was shirtless under a hoodie, the grin on his face giving away just how smug he felt.
"You really couldn't wait till after dinner?" she asked, arranging two plates on the dining table.
"Who says we can't do both?" he said, reaching to steal a roasted tomato off the tray.
She gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. "I'm living with a horndog."
"And you love it," he replied with a wink.
Dinner was slow and relaxed, the kind of meal where conversation filled the space between bites. They talked through the coming months—February nearly done, the Premier League tightening, the Champions League looming. Adriano's voice was calm, but the weight of it all sat just beneath the surface: Barcelona next, then possibly a semi-final.
The final was set for May 23rd, and though he didn't say it outright, the image of lifting that trophy haunted his thoughts more than he'd admit.
Between bites of pasta and sips of wine, Kate reminded him of their commitments too. The brief Downton Abbey filming next month. The press circuit in LA for Age of Ultron in late May. "May 29th, red carpet, so don't be late," she said, tapping his arm with the back of her fork.
"we'll fly in right after the final and celebrations," Adriano said, almost absentmindedly.
Kate touched his arm reassuringly, " You will win it babe. I have faith in you."
Adriano grasped her hand and gave ita squeeze, " Let's hope so. I already have plans for the party."
"And after this , you fly straight into Euro qualifiers," Kate added, giving him a look.
"We'll need a break after that. At least two weeks," he said. "Somewhere quiet. No cameras. Just us."
Kate nodded, her eyes softening. "We still need to visit your parents and mine. "
"We will," he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand. "We'll make the time."
After dinner, they curled up on the couch, the TV playing some random cooking show neither of them was really watching. Kate stretched out with her head in Adriano's lap, flipping through her phone for a while before setting it aside and closing her eyes.
Adriano's fingers moved to her shoulders, kneading slowly, then down her back. She let out a soft, content sigh.
"That feels good," she mumbled.
He didn't stop, gradually working his way lower, the massage turning slower, more deliberate. When his hand crept toward her hip and slid under the hem of her shirt and touching her breasts, she let out a quiet laugh.
"That's all you're getting tonight," she murmured without opening her eyes. "Don't get any more ideas."
"I already have ideas," he said, his fingers tracing lazy circles against her bare skin, making her take a deep breath.
She didn't stop him or didn't protest again, just wrapped her arms around him to enjoy his warmth. They stayed like that a while longer, warm and quiet under the soft light of the living room lamp.
Eventually, when the TV was still murmuring in the background and the wine glasses sat half-finished on the coffee table, they got up and headed to bed. Kate curled into him, her head resting on his chest, his arm draped loosely around her. Adriano's breathing slowed, his mind starting to drift.
"Goodnight babe," she whispered and gave a light kiss.
"night babe," he murmured, eyes already closed.
They didn't need to say much more. There was no need.
***
Premier League – Matchday 26
Manchester City vs Newcastle United
Etihad Stadium, Manchester
Evening Kick-off, Sky Sports Live Coverage
The skies over Manchester were clear for once, the chill of early spring brushing the cheeks of supporters filing into the Etihad with hopeful eyes and scarves wrapped tightly around their necks.
After the euphoric scenes in Turin just days ago, the City fans returned home eager to see their heroes back in domestic action—this time against a struggling but unpredictable Newcastle United.
Flags bearing the face of Adriano and chants of "City till I die!" rang out through the concourses. The buzz around the stadium wasn't just about three points—it was about keeping momentum alive, chasing Chelsea at the top of the table, and seeing whether the team that stunned Europe could continue their dominance in England.
On the gantry above the halfway line, Sky Sports' Martin Tyler and Alan Smith settled into their commentary positions as the camera panned across a packed Etihad Stadium, illuminated under the lights.
Martin Tyler (voice-over):
"Good evening, everyone, and welcome to the Etihad Stadium, where the atmosphere is absolutely electric. Manchester City return from one of their greatest European nights to face a different sort of challenge tonight—Newcastle United, who sit just above the drop zone but have proven tricky opponents in the past."
Alan Smith:
"Yes, and I think this one will be all about how quickly City can switch back to domestic mode. That midweek match in Turin was emotional, physically demanding… but if there's any side that can manage that turnaround, it's this one. Pellegrini's gone strong again—he's showing no signs of rotation."
Martin Tyler:
"Indeed. One change, forced by injury—Kolarov has a minor ankle sprain, so in comes Andy Robertson, who's been quietly impressive when called upon this season. The rest of the XI picks itself at this point, especially with that front four clicking so well. Hazard, Adriano, Salah, and Kane—there's no rest for defenders facing this lot."
Down at pitch level, the teams emerged from the tunnel to a raucous welcome. The roar from the South Stand was especially thunderous as Adriano led the team out, his name echoing across all four corners. Fans held up homemade banners—"KING OF TURIN", "#AR10", and even a cheeky "BUFFON STILL SEARCHING FOR THE BALL".
The stadium announcer's voice boomed over the speakers as the lineups were confirmed.
Manchester City Starting XI (4-3-3):
GK: Joe Hart
DEF: Joshua Kimmich, Mats Hummels, Eliaquim Mangala, Andy Robertson
MID: David Silva, Kevin De Bruyne
ATT: Mohamed Salah (RW), Adriano (CAM), Eden Hazard (LW)
ST: Harry Kane
Alan Smith (during warm-ups):
"One of the things that makes this City team so dangerous is the way they use the ball between the lines. Look at Adriano—he's constantly drifting into those pockets, dragging centre-backs out and letting Salah and Hazard make those inside runs. Then there's Kane who's always lurking there, waiting for a chance. It's very difficult to defend."
Martin Tyler:
"And you could say Newcastle's plan tonight—five across midfield, one up top—is designed to plug those spaces. But as we've seen before, sometimes the best-laid plans go out the window when De Bruyne and Silva are dictating play."
Across the pitch, Newcastle United emerged from the tunnel in their black and white stripes, greeted by a chorus of jeers from the South Stand, but a respectful round of applause from the rest of the Etihad. John Carver's side came into this one looking to restore pride—injuries and inconsistency had plagued their campaign.
Martin Tyler:
"Newcastle haven't won in six league matches, but they have players who can frustrate. Carver's gone with a five-man midfield tonight to try and break up the rhythm."
Alan Smith:
"And they'll have to be disciplined. If they give City time on the ball, they'll get picked apart."
Newcastle, under mounting pressure in the league, had come to Manchester with caution in mind. Their 4-5-1 shape was compact, designed to smother the centre and force City wide. Captain Jamaal Lascelles barked instructions, trying to keep the back line organized during shooting drills.
Newcastle United Starting XI (4-5-1):
GK: Tim Krul
DEF: Daryl Janmaat, Mike Williamson, Fabricio Coloccini (C), Massadio Haïdara
MID: Moussa Sissoko, Jack Colback, Vurnon Anita, Remy Cabella, Yoan Gouffran
ST: Papiss Cissé
Cabella and Sissoko offered pace on the break, while Cissé remained their sharpest threat in the final third—capable of scoring from nothing, even if isolated. Coloccini, the experienced captain, barked instructions as he organized the backline.
Down in the dugouts, Manuel Pellegrini stood calmly, arms folded as he watched his side go through final drills. He nodded at Adriano, who jogged by and offered a quick thumbs-up. On the other end, Carver looked tense, clutching his notepad and exchanging a few words with assistant Steve Stone.
Alan Smith:
"For Newcastle, the game plan is simple: sit deep, narrow the gaps, and pray Cissé can produce some magic. They'll try to frustrate City and hit on the counter."
Martin Tyler:
"City, meanwhile, will want to start fast. Expect them to push both full-backs forward, especially Robertson on the left—he'll be eager to prove himself tonight."
As the teams lined up, the Etihad roared to life. Supporters unveiled a massive banner in the East Stand that read: "FROM TURIN TO THE TREBLE – BELIEVE" in sky blue letters, with a painted silhouette of Adriano's celebration after his third goal in Italy.
Fireworks popped off outside the South Stand. Kids on shoulders waved scarves. Chants of "Blue Moon Galacticos" rolled like thunder across the tiers.
Martin Tyler:
"A special atmosphere here at the Etihad. Manchester City… Newcastle United… Premier League football under the lights… and we are moments from kickoff.
Back inside the Etihad, the final warm-ups concluded. Joe Hart rallied the back line, clapping his gloves and shouting encouragement. Hummels exchanged a fist bump with Kimmich. Pellegrini stood calmly by the dugout, his expression as composed as ever, but a subtle nod to his staff revealed his focus.
Adriano jogged across the halfway line toward the centre circle and looked around the stands—smiling slightly at the sea of blue shirts and scarves. Behind him, Kane bounced on the spot, stretching his calves, while Salah adjusted his shin pads. Hazard looked serene, eyes closed for a moment of calm before the chaos.
Martin Tyler:
"There's no hiding now. After their exploits in Europe, Manchester City are being looked at differently—expectations are higher. But Pellegrini's men seem to thrive under pressure. Let's see if they can deliver again tonight."
The referee checked his watch. The whistle was raised and blown.
The match has started.
Manchester City were back in motion—and they looked hungry.
****
The Etihad Stadium was crackling with early energy, the hum of expectation still lingering from Turin's glory. Manchester City, confident and in rhythm, didn't waste any time asserting themselves.
From the opening whistle, it was clear Pellegrini's side weren't easing back into domestic duties—they were tearing into them. Inside the third minute, Silva and De Bruyne were already popping up between the lines, Kimmich overlapping with relentless precision down the right. Newcastle, rigid in a narrow 4-5-1, were struggling to adjust.
"Early signals of intent from Manchester City," noted Martin Tyler. "They want this done quickly."
By the 6th minute, Adriano began to drop into the half-spaces more frequently, drawing Colback out of position and unbalancing the midfield block. Kimmich fizzed a cross into Kane, whose touch let him down—but it was a warning shot.
Then, in the 8th minute, the breakthrough came—fluid, ruthless, pure City.
Adriano collected the ball centrally, 25 yards out, and instantly shifted through the gears. He dropped a shoulder, shimmied past Anita, and slipped a precise pass wide left to Eden Hazard. Hazard killed the ball with a velvet touch, cut inside Janmaat, sent the Dutchman sliding the wrong way with a feigned shot, and delayed just long enough for Kane to arrive in stride. With one touch, Kane steadied himself—and with the second, he unleashed a thunderbolt across goal.
The ball skimmed off the turf and beat Krul low to his right.
GOAL ANNOUNCER (over PA):
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 12… HARRY… KANE!"
Martin Tyler shouted over the crowd roar:
"Oh, that is devastating precision! Harry Kane with a striker's finish—clean, confident, and unstoppable. And it's City who strike first!"
Alan Smith added:
"You look at the combination—Adriano pulling the strings, Hazard making defenders dance, and Kane… well, that's just what he does best. Fantastic team goal."
Kane grinned as he jogged toward the corner flag, arms outstretched. Hazard chased after him, leaping onto his back. "Brother, that fake shot—nasty!" Kane laughed. "You sent him to Tesco!"
Adriano joined the celebration with a quick high-five. "One down. Let's bury them."
Newcastle looked rattled. Fabricio Coloccini shouted at his midfield to close the space, gesturing wildly. Jack Colback tried to rally the group: "Compact! Stay tight! No gaps!" But it was all unraveling too fast.
City kept turning the screw. Silva, drifting gracefully into pockets, began to dictate. In the 14th minute, a brilliant lofted ball from Kimmich found Salah's run behind Haïdara, but Salah's volley on the stretch flew just over.
"City are queuing up," said Alan Smith. "Newcastle can't plug the leaks fast enough."
In the 17th minute, a miscommunication between Coloccini and Krul nearly gifted City a second—Hazard intercepted a weak backpass and tried to round the keeper, but Krul just managed to smother it.
"Another warning," said Martin Tyler. "Newcastle clinging on."
But the second didn't take long to arrive. In the 19th minute, De Bruyne turned smoothly in midfield and played a laser-guided pass out to Robertson, who had sprinted past Gouffran down the left flank. The young Scot took one touch and whipped in a low, driven cross.
Hazard read it early. He darted near-post, ahead of Janmaat, and met it with a side-footed finish in full stride—low, near-post, classic poacher's goal.
GOAL ANNOUNCER (Etihad PA):
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 7… EDEN… HAZARD!"
Martin Tyler:
"Too slick, too sharp, too good. Eden Hazard with City's second, and Newcastle are being picked apart like a training exercise."
Alan Smith:
"And full credit to Robertson—his delivery was inch-perfect. That's a full-back playing like a winger. Brilliant stuff."
Hazard turned to the crowd, thumped the badge on his chest, and pointed to the family stand where his wife and kids waved from behind the glass. Robertson jogged over to receive a clap on the back and a rare grin from the Belgian.
"Great ball," Hazard said, breathless.
"Only cause you made that run," Robertson replied, smiling.
At 2–0, Newcastle were crumbling. Sissoko attempted to carry the ball out in the 23rd minute, only to be muscled off by Mangala, who then pointed at Adriano and shouted, "Drop in behind Kev!" The Portuguese playmaker nodded, already sprinting into the half-space.
The Etihad crowd was already purring with delight as Manchester City continued to overwhelm Newcastle with a brand of football that was equal parts calculated and electric. By the 25th minute, the Magpies were chasing shadows. Jack Colback and Vurnon Anita shouted at each other over missed assignments, but it was like trying to stop a waterfall with a tea towel.
On the touchline, Pellegrini stood with arms folded, nodding occasionally. "Keep the tempo," he instructed to Rubén Cousillas beside him. "They're tiring."
City earned a corner after Kimmich's deflected cross looped out over Haïdara's head in the 26th minute. Silva jogged over with the ball in hand, and Kimmich followed. What followed wasn't your standard delivery.
Silva played a short pass to Kimmich, who instantly returned it with a deft flick. Silva then squared it inside the box to De Bruyne, whose dummy sold Cabella and opened up a lane. A deflected clearance rolled out toward the edge of the D.
Adriano stepped into frame.
"Here comes trouble," warned Alan Smith just as the Portuguese playmaker let the ball run across his body, feinted inside Anita, then with that signature calmness, curled a shot toward the far corner with his right foot.
Martin Tyler's voice spiked:
"Oh, that is exquisite! Adriano, with a brushstroke of brilliance—right into the postage stamp!"
The ball nestled into the top corner, Krul frozen. The crowd rose in unison.
Etihad PA Announcer:
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 10… ADRIANO!"
He didn't sprint. He didn't need to. Adriano raised both hands calmly to the sky, fingers pointed upward, before turning and jogging back toward midfield. De Bruyne met him with a grin and a quick fist bump.
"You make it look too easy," said KDB.
Adriano chuckled, "It is when no one's pressing me."
Silva came over clapping. "We keep going. There's more here."
The scoreboard now read 3–0. Newcastle fans behind Krul were slumped in their seats. John Carver, on the visiting bench, looked as if he'd aged ten years in thirty minutes.
"Newcastle have been carved open again," sighed Tyler. "There's no midfield screen, no communication—just survival."
Salah had a golden chance to make it four in the 34th minute when Robertson picked him out at the far post. The Egyptian took a lovely first touch to beat Haïdara, but Krul stood tall and parried the low shot with his feet.
"Great reaction from Krul," said Smith, "but Salah should bury that. That's meat and drink for a player of his ability."
Moments later, a clever through ball from Silva sent Kane through the center. As he tried to round Krul, the ball skipped off the slick surface. Kane lunged and tapped it into the net—only for the linesman's flag to go up.
"Offside," confirmed Tyler. "But Newcastle's high line is begging for trouble."
Tension briefly flared in the 37th minute when Sissoko clipped Hazard just outside the area with a cynical trip. Robertson rushed over and gave the Frenchman a shove.
"Watch it," barked Mangala, stepping between them.
Hazard shook his head. "You're not stopping me like that, mate."
The resulting free kick saw De Bruyne clip a delightful ball into the mixer, where Mangala rose highest, but headed over from six yards.
By now, every touch by a City player was met with a cheer. The crowd sensed dominance—and artistry.
And then, in the 41st minute, came the cherry on top of the first-half cake.
It started from deep, with Mangala carrying the ball out and feeding De Bruyne, who quickly released it to Adriano between the lines. The Portuguese star flicked it on with a backheel into Salah's path as the Egyptian darted across Janmaat.
Salah didn't break stride. He took one touch with his left, another to steady, and then calmly slid the ball underneath Krul with surgical precision.
Etihad Announcer:
"GOAL FOR MANCHESTER CITY! SCORER… NUMBER 11… MOHAMED… SALAH!"
Martin Tyler:
"Surgical. Simply surgical. That's four, and it's football at its most devastating."
Salah grinned and spread his arms as he slowed to a jog. Adriano jogged over and bumped shoulders with him.
"About time you finished one," Adriano teased.
Salah laughed. "Keep feeding me like that and I'll get two more."
Pellegrini didn't even rise from his seat. He just gave a nod to Cousillas and murmured, "Perfect."
The away end behind Joe Hart's goal was in stunned silence. A few Newcastle fans had already started heading for the concourse.
"Newcastle look like they're begging for halftime," said Alan Smith, "but honestly, I'm not sure that'll save them either."
When referee Anthony Taylor blew for halftime, the scoreboard beamed Manchester City 4 – 0 Newcastle United. The City players jogged off with high-fives all around, while Newcastle trudged off heads down, hands on hips.
It had been a half of dominance, precision, and flair. One that reminded everyone—domestically or in Europe—Manchester City meant business.
****
Current Stats of Adriano:
Premier League
Matches: 18
Goals: 24
Assists: 16
Current top scorer of the Premier League, and top on the assists list.
*
Champions League
Matches: 8
Goals: 18
Assists: 5
Current top scorer, 2nd in Assists
*
FA Cup
Matches: 1
Goals: 2
Assists: 2